


je ne peux pas vivre sans toi

by jadrian



Category: Mean Streets (1973)
Genre: M/M, Makeup, Period-Typical Homophobia, Punk AU, Punk Fashion, but they love each other so :), charlie pov again because i can not comprehend johnny boy’s mental process, in that they are actually nice to each other, its mild tho, kind of ooc, kinda sad... i guess u could call it melancholy ?, like 78 maybe? around there, so its set a few years later than the actual film, tw for q slur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25147297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadrian/pseuds/jadrian
Summary: Various scenes in the lives of two young men just trying to make something of themselves.
Relationships: Charlie Cappa/Johnny Boy Civello
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maiiiii heart emoji smirk emoji statue emoji](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=maiiiii+heart+emoji+smirk+emoji+statue+emoji).



> this is just a series of oneshots in a vaguely chronological order
> 
> dedicated to da bestie mai <3 i love u sososo much queen hope you have an amazing birthday !!!!
> 
> disclaimer: i have never been to new york so i actually have no idea what it's like. all descriptions of the city are purely from my own imagination :)
> 
> title smth french bc mai-linh = ceo of speaking french

“You’re an embarrassment.”

“And you’re a fuckin’ pussy, Charlie!”

Charlie truly couldn’t believe what he was looking at. Keep it simple, he had said. Rustic. Something alternative, but not something outrageous. He himself was wearing a ripped t-shirt, a plain leather jacket, and a pair of jeans with their band logo carefully painted on them. Perfectly disrespectful.

Johnny, however, had chosen to completely disregard Charlie’s very well thought out plan (even though everyone had _agreed_ that Charlie should be the manager, _even_ _Johnny_ ). Instead, he had decided to put together an outfit that made Charlie’s eyes bleed out of their sockets in pure shock. No shirt, a leather jacket about three sizes too big for him with something unintelligible scrawled all over it, Doc Martens with mismatched laces, and to top it all off, a tartan skirt that came down just above his knees. 

A motherfucking  _ skirt _ . 

Charlie seriously considered just passing out then and there. It wasn’t like the band really needed a bassist, right?

“Look,” Johnny argued, crossing his arms. “We’re a punk band, right? Aren’t we meant to be… challenging the system, or whatever? What’s wrong with me wearing a fucking skirt?”

Rolling his eyes, Charlie replied, “This is New York, you fuckin’ moron! You leave here looking like that and you’ll get murdered! Hell, I’m close to wringing your neck myself! D’ya purposefully ignore every word I fuckin’ say, or is it just instinct?”

God help him, Johnny actually  _ laughed _ at the concept of getting beat on by several people. “Yeah? I’d like to see somebody goddamn try. Ain’t no mook gonna ruin my evening.”

Charlie could feel himself giving in to the guy. He always did, really. “At least wear some jeans or something ‘til we get to the venue.  _ Please _ . If you get jumped, I’ll have to get involved as well, and I can’t be fuckin’ bothered with that tonight.”

Johnny considered this for a few seconds, then nodded his head wordlessly. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. Punk band or not, he didn’t really want to show up to their first gig looking like they’d both been dragged kicking and screaming through several hedges. 

“Thank the Lord,” Charlie muttered, turning towards the mirror to check his own hair. Then, quietly, he said, “You look good, by the way.”

Johnny just grinned widely and left the room to find some jeans. 


	2. Chapter 2

Johnny knocked on the door in the early hours of the morning. He usually does.

Charlie let him in anyway. He always does.

“Ma kicked me out.” Johnny announced. His voice seemed forced, unnatural.

A pause. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, man. Said I was fuckin… well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t wanna talk about it. But she kicked me out, Charlie. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

Charlie rolled his eyes, like there wasn’t even a question about it. “The fuck d’ya think? Live with me, stupid.”

“I… Charlie, don’t worry about it. There’s plenty of suckers in this city who’ll let me sleep on their couch for a few days.”

“Don’t be a fuckin’ moron, Johnny. You practically live here anyway. You sure as hell act like it.”

After letting this information sink in, Johnny’s face split into the widest smile Charlie had ever seen. No matter how many times Charlie helped him out, Johnny always seemed surprised that anyone would want to do something like that for him. 

“You’re not joking? I can live with ya?” 

“‘Course,” Charlie replied, like it was nothing. And, thinking about it, it kinda was. He knew he couldn’t rely on Johnny for rent, but maybe the bastard would make the damn coffee once in a while. Plus he was good company, when he wanted to be. 

Johnny ran his hands through his own hair, eyes shining with excitement. “Shit, man, you’ve really saved my fuckin’ skin here. I owe you big time.”

“Yeah, yeah, add it to the goddamn list.”

More soberly now, Johnny said, “Seriously, Charlie. You’ve stuck your neck out for me more times than I can count. It’s...” He paused. Charlie could tell the guy was struggling for words. “I… I appreciate it.”

Charlie’s chest felt tight. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. Instead, he just replied, “Don’t mention it. Besides, I can keep a better eye on you now, huh? Keep you from getting into more shit.”

Seemingly relieved at the change in tone, Johnny let out a short laugh. “Alright, fuckface. I’m dead on my fuckin’ feet, you got any coffee?”

“Yeah, I got coffee. I ain’t makin’ it, tho. Machine’s over there,” Charlie gestured vaguely into the kitchen. 

Johnny started to move past him, his usual bouncing step slightly subdued. Almost against his will, Charlie grabbed Johnny’s arm. Inside him, he felt an invisible hand reach down and dislodge the words resting in his throat. They spilled out of his mouth before he could catch them. 

“Hey - seriously, it’s nothing, okay? I want to. You know… you know I love you, right?” The last words were spoken in a near-whisper, but they seemed deafening in the resulting silence. 

Charlie pulled Johnny into a hug. He couldn’t bear to look Johnny in the eyes and let him see what was there. If eyes are windows to the soul, Charlie’s were very close to smashing to goddamn pieces.

But then Johnny spoke, warm against Charlie’s neck. “Me and you, yeah, Charlie?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Johnny. Me and you.” 

They held each other tighter, in the hallway of their now shared apartment, like letting go for even a second would kill the both of them.


	3. Chapter 3

There was makeup  _ everywhere _ . Eyeshadow palettes across the floor, lipsticks strewn on the bed, various eyeliner pencils rolling around on shelves. It was like a whirlwind had whipped through the local makeup store and flung its entire contents in their apartment.

And Johnny Boy was sitting in the middle of it all, grinning the most self-satisfied grin Charlie’s ever seen.

“Seriously, Charlie,” Johnny was saying, his eyes wide and filled with enthusiasm. “All the British bands are doing it. It’ll give us an edge!”

Seeing Charlie’s reluctance, Johnny continued, “Look, I spoke to Suzie, ya know, at the bar? And she said that this shit is the best. No point dealing with that cheap bullshit, yeah?”

“Christ, Johnny, how much fuckin’ money did you have to borrow to buy all this shit? Am I gonna have to go begging some fella not to shoot your ass?”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. Light of my life,  _ tesoro, cuore mio, _ how long have you fuckin’ known me? You really think I would spend my hard-earned cash-”  _ Yeah, right _ , Charlie thought, “on a fuck-ton of lipstick? Gimme some credit!”

Charlie gazed around the room before picking up the nearest palette to examine it. It sure did feel goddamn expensive. “So you stole all this shit?”

“Ay, you know me,” smirked Johnny, proud of himself.

“I oughtta kick your fuckin’ head in, takin’ risks like that!” Charlie exclaimed, holding a tube of lipstick threateningly. “What if someone saw you, huh? Then you’d be down at the goddamn station house and I would be off tryna persuade some poor jerk-off to lend me the bail.”

Johnny didn’t say anything, but he at least had the dignity to look slightly abashed.

Sighing, Charlie asked, “And you know how to use it?”

“Ah… well. About that…” 

Charlie couldn’t believe what he was fucking witnessing. This guy brings home a couple hundred bucks worth of makeup, and he doesn’t even know how to use the damn things.

“I thought we could, ya know, figure it out ourselves. How hard can it fuckin’ be? Broads do it all the time.” 

“I don’t know, tough guy… first the skirt, now this? We’re gonna look like a pair of queers.”

“Yeah, well,” Johnny grinned, wide and easy. “That’s what we are, ain’t we?”

Charlie couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“Look, it can’t hurt to try, can it? At least with all this on our face, we’ll stand out from the rest of the fuckers on the circuit.”

“Yeah, we’ll be goddamn standing out, all right. The only way we won’t be standing out is if a fuckin’ traveling circus comes to town.” Charlie complained, knowing deep down he had already accepted his fate. If he didn’t give in now, Johnny would just fucking  _ badger _ him until he did. “You know Michael and Tony are never going to wear this shit, right?”

Johnny waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, fuck ‘em. I’ll handle Michael and Tony. All you need to worry about is…” He reached behind himself to grab something. “Blue or pink eyeshadow?”

  
  


An hour and a half later, they had reached a point where Johnny was satisfied with their efforts. One of Charlie’s eyes was bright red from where Johnny slipped when applying eyeliner, and Johnny had somehow managed to get lipstick in his hair, but overall, Charlie had to admit, they didn’t look  _ too _ bad. In fact, he kinda liked how the dark red lipstick brought out the colour in his eyes.

He didn’t tell Johnny this, of course. Instead, he just announced, “We both look fucking ridiculous,” and went to go and make dinner, leaving Johnny sitting on the floor of the bedroom, black eyeshadow smeared over his eyelids, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

(They both kept the makeup on all through dinner, and only took it off right before they went to bed. That night, they both slept deeper than they had in weeks.)


	4. Chapter 4

Nights in New York are unlike any other. Each city has its own way of living when the sun comes down, but in New York, it’s like the glowing light of the moon falls on a whole other world. Monsters creep out of the shadows, hats pulled low and cigarettes dangling from their lips, and those who cross their paths tend to regret it. 

However, these are not the only signs of life the night has to offer, far from it. Couples stumbling around after too many drinks. Street vendors packing up their stalls hurriedly. Kids, far younger than they look, hanging around on street corners, trying to impress the very people their parents warned them against. Hell, there’s even a fair share of animals roaming about, searching for the tiny scraps that could make up their meal for the night.

All of this, all the chatter and car horns and arguments and beatings and music… they make up the unique chorus that is nighttime in New York. Most newcomers struggle to get any semblance of a good night’s sleep in such conditions, tossing and turning with their fingers in their ears. 

But for Charlie, who’s never been higher than 23rd Street in his life, falling asleep to the sounds of the city is the easiest thing in the world. It seems to soothe him, grounding him in his warm, familiar reality.

The presence of a certain young man in his bed, night after night, certainly isn’t the worst thing in the world either. Johnny makes Charlie’s bed feel more comfortable, his natural body heat providing a much cheaper alternative to paying the gas bill, and his long limbs a comfortable weight on Charlie’s own. 

One night, Charlie was lying awake, and had been for hours. No amount of soothing background noise could persuade his brain to give in to his aching tiredness, and he was considering sneaking out of bed for a smoke when Johnny spoke.

“Hey, Charlie?” he whispered, his words cutting through the sounds of the night effortlessly. They were uncharacteristically soft and uncertain, putting Charlie immediately on edge. “Charlie, I just… sometimes I wonder… well…” he was even quieter now, his voice near inaudible against where he rested on Charlie’s shoulder. “D’ya think we’ll ever make it?”

Charlie looks down at Johnny’s face, which is bathed in cold light from the streetlamps outside. It accentuated the angles of his face, hardening the edges and deepening the shadows. But his eyes were wide and soft and open and vulnerable and Charlie felt a rush of affection so strong it made his breath hitch.

He wrapped Johnny’s hand in his and pulled him closer, their foreheads nearly touching. “Of course we will,” Charlie replied, forcing his voice to stay steady. “We’re gonna be superstars, Johnny. I just know it.”

Johnny smiled thinly and didn’t reply.

“Go to sleep, Johnny,” Charlie whispered.

Outside, a car rolled slowly past their building. A streetlamp blinked, close to breaking. A dog barked. Charlie and Johnny slept.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading <3 please leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed! 
> 
> follow me on twitter for more gay shit @/yeehawkeanu


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